


nobody else but me

by Roflskate



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Character, Deception, Emotional Manipulation, Jealousy, Letters, M/M, Mind Games, Missing Scene, Period-Typical Homophobia, Questionable Advice, Transatlantic owls, mentions of abuse, not particularly well-informed consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:19:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roflskate/pseuds/Roflskate
Summary: “…You’ve been to England before, Mr. Graves?”Graves pauses, lost in thought, before speaking again. “Once, when I was a young man. The trip began well enough, but I’m afraid it ended in terrible disappointment.”-in which Albus Dumbledore discovers that no matter how hard you try and move on, you can never really escape your past mistakes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song "Genghis Khan" by Miike Snow, which ended up being way more appropriate than it had any right being.
> 
> Also, as a warning, while everything that happens is technically consensual, Dumbledore is obviously not aware of who Graves actually is.
> 
> There is also a Chinese translation available here: http://zzh2728.lofter.com/post/1d84e9ab_d09cad5 Big thanks to zzh2728!

The emergency meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards on the subject of one Gellert Grindelwald was one of the rainiest days in London that anyone could recall. Albus Dumbledore couldn’t help but note that it appropriately suited the mood of the whole ordeal. And, it was truly an _ordeal_. The European delegates blamed one another for the situation, yet if someone _not_ from the Continent tried to say the same, they’d be promptly told that somehow it _their_ fault, that Grindelwald _must_ have visited Australia and _they_ were the ones who had the power to stop him. That continued on for hours, with Albus trying (and, judging by the glares, _failing_ ) to help the Supreme Mugwump, and be a voice of reason. But, by the end of it, nothing seemed to have been resolved, although, new and “exciting” grudges had likely been created.

As he leaves the meeting area and heads into the lobby, Albus Dumbledore feels… disquieted. Not for any of the actions that he took during the meeting, or from the glares being shot at him by the passing Swedish delegation, but for what had remained unsaid on the subject of Grindelwald. Should he have mentioned everything that he knew about the man? Would it have made a difference, given that any information he might have was nearly thirty years out of date? Would they have assumed the worst? Would they think that because he was a— because _they_ had been… intimately acquainted with one another that he had something to do with him _now_? And more importantly, would they demand to know the answer to the one question that he _refused_ to think about, lest it drive him mad? So, was it better to just _keep his mouth shut_ and let old wounds remain sealed?

But (perhaps thankfully), he had no more time to contemplate any more what ifs, because right at that moment, a member of the American delegation approaches him, his stride carrying a clear sense of purpose.

“Professor Albus Dumbledore.” It is a statement, rather than a question.

The man is well-dressed, and carries himself in a way that indicates his stature. They also looked to be roughly the same age, though his hair was greying slightly more than Albus’ own. _He is also rather handsome,_ Albus notes, though he quashes that thought before it goes any further.

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name.” Which, might not have been the best thing to say to an American, who (if certain stereotypes were to be believed) were well-known for their grandiose sense of importance.

But, luckily, the man appears to be one of the few sensible ones, holding his hand for the other man to shake. “Percival Graves, Head of Magical Law Enforcement for MACUSA.”

“A… pleasure, Mr. Graves.” Albus takes his hand, shaking it cautiously. “Is there something that I can help you with?”

Graves shakes his head. “Actually, it was the other way around. You were one of the only European representatives with any sense. The rest of them kept blaming each other for the... situation,” _That is certainly one way to refer to him_ , Albus thinks, as Graves continues, “…but you managed to remain calm.”

He shrugs. “ _Someone_ had to be the voice of reason when the Swiss delegation threatened the Australians.”

“It was appreciated, Professor.” His eyes meet Albus’, as if to emphasize the point.

Still, in spite of the compliment, Albus laughs, incredulous. “You’re probably the only person in the room that thought that, Mr. Graves.”

Graves frowns. “Hardly. Madam Picquery herself said it was a shame _you_ couldn’t be in government, if only to keep the rest of them in line. And, I know for a fact that she’s hardly alone. She wanted me to personally deliver her message of thanks, and hopes that you might consider stepping into your British Ministry should the… _situation_ worsen.”

Ah, and it all became clear. He’d been asked on more than one occasion to join the Ministry of Magic, and refused more than once. Having a foreign leader ask the question was new, however. And, just as futile.

Albus shakes his head again, “I’m afraid that I’ll have to disappoint your President. I learned long ago that I’m far better at teaching others than playing politics.”

The answer seems to surprise Graves.

“Is that so, Professor Dumbledore? I’d have thought with the way you handled yourself—”

“—I’m too argumentative, Mr. Graves. If I were ever to become Minister, they’d probably have some sort of scandal already set up. You saw the way that some of the European delegates looked at me. That’s not the first time I’ve gotten on their bad side. In certain circles in England, I’m considered _controversial_.” He hopes the tone brokers no more questioning, but the American doesn’t seem deterred. If anything, he seems more determined. And although Albus considers himself something on an expert in reading the faces and minds of others, he cannot quite make out what Graves is thinking.

“If common sense is what passes for ‘controversial’ in England now, then it’s become a far greater disappointment than I remember.”

It was a peculiar thing to say, but after what had seemed like an eternity, Albus finally sees his opportunity to change the subject, and takes it. If the man will not be deterred by polite dismissal, he might be scared away by the dreariest of small talk. “…You’ve been to England before, Mr. Graves?”

Graves pauses, lost in thought, before speaking again. “Once, when I was a young man. The trip began well enough, but I’m afraid it ended in terrible disappointment.”

Albus raises an eyebrow, as if asking for an explanation, and Graves seems more than happy to oblige.

“When I arrived, they said that you could go weeks without seeing the sun. And yet, the entire time I was in England, I barely saw more than a wisp of cloud.” He shrugs, and attempts a half-apologetic smile that gets a chuckle from Albus, who is finding that _this_ side of Graves is much more agreeable than the one sent by the President to badger him about the Ministry.

“I have to say Mr. Graves, I didn’t expect the Head of Magical Law Enforcement for MACUSA to have something resembling a sense humour.”

“I’m _full_ of surprises, Professor Dumbledore.” Graves’ smile widens, and there seems to be a distinctive hint of _something_ in his voice. Percival Graves is once again proving to be a difficult man to read, and slowly but surely, Albus’s initial annoyance was transforming to something closer to intrigue.

“Then, despite the circumstances, I expect this visit has at least met your expectations.”

Graves’ smile hasn’t faded. “Exceeded it, now that I’ve had the chance to talk to you. Despite the circumstances, of course.” Subtly he brushes his hand against Albus’s arm, and lets it remain there. A simple gesture, yet one that carries a certain amount of gravity, if one was looking for it.

Albus’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t move away. “Are you sure, Mr. Graves? I’m afraid that I wasn’t particularly malleable to your suggestions.”

Graves leans in closer, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Perhaps you might be malleable to some of my _other_ suggestions, Professor?” And with that, his intent went from masked, to glaringly obvious for the sort of man who understood such things.

It might have been abrupt, but given the circumstances, it makes sense, Albus notes. Given his position, any dalliance with another man in his social circles would lead to vicious gossip at best, and outright dismissal from his posting at worst. And, he would hardly be free to seek a Muggle companion, given MACUSA’s fraternisation laws and penalties for so much as speaking to a Muggle out of turn. Not that things were much easier in England, mind you, with Muggle laws and biases being what they were, but at the very least, interaction _was_ permitted. And now, there was yet another emotion that Graves elicited from Albus: Sympathy.

(As for why Graves had propositioned _him_ , instead of any other man in the room, was something of a mystery. Perhaps he’d really been _that_ ensnared by his choice words for the Swiss delegation.)

Despite his better judgement, Albus doesn’t move away. “We shall have to see what sort of suggestions you offer.” And Graves’ smile grows.

This was a _terrible_ idea for so many reasons. On the rare occasion that Albus _did_ have any inclination for intimacy, he found that Muggles were by far the most preferable partners. There was a degree of anonymity for both parties, and after all was said and done, neither man would have to see one another again (unless, he suspects, he were to inadvertently stroll into the House of Lords, but that wasn’t something most people did). The very nature of the International Confederation of Wizards would mean that they might find themselves not only seeing one another, but potentially working together. And therein lay the problem. Graves was a wizard. That he would likely have to see again.

Albus had only ever been intimate with one wizard for any extended period of time. And it had been the greatest mistake of his life. Still, Graves seems earnest enough, and he can sympathise with his difficulties.

“How long are you in London for?” An innocent enough question to an outside listener, but they both know what it means.

Albus carefully weighs his options once again. Yes, Graves was earnest, and yes, he could sympathise, but that was hardly a compelling reason to break the creed he’s held onto for some thirty years. So, he answers gently: “Not for long, I’m afraid.”

“I see...” And, just like that, the moment is over, and there is a look of disappointment in Graves’ eyes as he removes his hand and steps away. “I’m sorry to have taken up too much of your time, Professor. If you’ll excuse me—”

That should have been the end of it. But in a moment that he can only describe as utter madness (or, perhaps… sympathy for the American), he finds his mouth moving seemingly on its own accord.

“—I mean it. Hogwarts does not allow for Apparition in the grounds, which means that my trip will take longer than most, and I do have many things to attend to in the next few hours.”                              

Much to his surprise, Graves stops and turns back around, his eyes narrowing. “Then…”

Again, his mouth moves seemingly on its own accord. “Not now is not ‘no’, Mr. Graves.”

The American’s smile slowly returns, and Albus once again reminds himself what a _terrible_ idea this is. He holds out his hand, and once again, Albus takes it.

“Until next time, Professor Albus Dumbledore.”                                                                                              

Yet, apparently Albus cannot quite resist making the situation worse: “Send me an owl, when you have the time.”

Something lights up in Graves’ eyes. “I will.”

He doubts that he will hear from him. After all, an Auror has far more important things to do with his time than correspond with a Transfiguration Professor.

 

* * *

 

The first Owl arrives within a week, though Albus does not open the letter for a week after that. Not because he’s avoiding it (or so he _tells_ himself), but because he has far more pressing issues to attend to, such as writing back to a former student that is working on a book sure to change the field of Magizoology forever. 

It certainly isn’t because the last man who had wrote to him in an intimate manner was currently well on his way to becoming the most dangerous dark wizard to ever live.

The letter sits on his desk, as if it’s taunting him; as if it’s _daring_ him to open it. Twice, he nearly opens the envelope before placing it back down. Finally, after days of this tedious game, his _rational_ mind takes control and he opens it.

Its contents are completely benign:

 

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_Let me again emphasize that it was a pleasure meeting you, despite the circumstances, and while I do carry some disappointment, I more than understand where you’re coming from. I have to admit, I was thrilled when you suggested writing. I love my country and my job, but I find that it’s easy to lose perspective with what’s going on in the rest of the world._

_I hope that you might be able to help me in that regard._

_\- G_

The handwriting was different than Gellert’s had been. While he wrote with a feverish flourish, outlining the first thing that came to his mind, Graves was meticulous, as though searching for the exact right word.

But, that was to be expected, of course. Graves was not Gellert and the circumstances were entirely different.

Albus replies:

 

_Mr. Graves,_

_Thank you for your Owl. I can understand the feeling of losing a sense of perspective. When you are a Professor, the concerns of your students become the most important thing, and all else sometimes falls by the wayside._

_I would gladly help you, and I hope that you also help me._

_Sincerely,_

_\- A_

 

Their correspondence continues this way for some time, with both men exchanging the small minutia of their respective professions. Graves occasionally expresses frustration with MACUSA’s endless bureaucracy, while Albus recounts Professor Kettleburn’s latest foray into career probation.

In the third month, Graves asks Albus for advice:

 

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I find myself facing an impossible situation, but I trust that you might be able to help, given your alternative perspective to my colleagues._

_This week, an Auror under my guidance, Porpentina Goldstein, attacked a No-Maj woman in front of her children, and a group of her followers. Mass Obliviations were required. Not only did she break half of our laws, but she nearly exposed all of us. It seems simple enough, right?_

_Well, that’s where you’re wrong._

_You see, this woman is the leader of something called the “Second Salem” movement, which is exactly what it sounds like. Yes, most No-Majs see her as a breed of fanatical puritan that’s sprung up across our country since the start of Prohibition, but fanatical puritans are becoming unfortunately fashionable, with their distaste of anything that might be ‘different’. People like her would see men like you and me killed, not only for our magic, but also for who we choose to spend our time with._

_But, I’m afraid that I’ve digressed._

_What is important is the woman is a truly vile creature, and Ms. Goldstein tells me she only attacked her to defend one of her adopted “children”. And so, this woman is allowed to remain on the street, free to do to her children whatever she sees fit._

_So, tell me Albus. What would you do? Would you do what was right? Or what was good? After what she did, I can hardly let her keep her job. But, given her motivations behind her actions, can I really just throw her out on the street?_

_Regards,_

_\- G_

He reads the letter with intent, feeling a mixture of disgust, sympathy, and outrage. However, the letter also sends a thrill through a part of Albus, partially for the trust that Graves was placing in him, and partially for the opportunity to do something that was _different_ than teaching First Years how to change teacups into mice (as much as he enjoys it, even the most patient of teachers may grow weary). He takes some time to think on the ethical dilemma before replying:

 

_Mr. Graves,_

_I understand your dilemma better than most, I’m afraid. When I was a young man, my father attacked a group of Muggle boys for something truly heinous that they had done. Yet when he was asked why he did it, he offered no explanation to the authorities and accepted the full consequences of his actions. While I know why he did what he did, I still cannot be sure if my father made the right decision._

_Even if I imagine that were I in his place, I would have likely done the same._

_As for my advice in this situation? While she may have had her reasons, and like with my father, I cannot fault her for her choice, she must face consequences. Do not throw her onto the street or into prison, especially if she has never done anything like this before. Demote her. Have her assigned to another department, and be sure that she keeps away from this woman, her children, and her organisation. Given the circumstances, I believe that this is the best that you can do._

_\- A_

From then on, Graves begins asking for his advice more often. Sometimes, it was about simple things, such as shutting down a Muggle-Wizard bootlegging ring. Other times:

 

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_Once again, I’m afraid that I find myself in another impossible situation. Considering how much you helped me in the past, I was hoping that you might spare some of your time for me again. I want you to know that I’m writing to you, because you’re the only person that I trust with this information. If it were to get out, there’s a chance my career would be over._

_You remember the Second Salem group? The other day, I did a routine sweep of the area that they frequent, making sure that Ms. Goldstein was staying away, among other things. While, I was standing there, a young man approached me, handing me a pamphlet on the dangers of Witchcraft and the Eternal Damnation that awaited me for daring to breathe the wrong way. I recognized him immediately as one of that women’s “children”. Against my better judgement, I engaged him, and asked for his name._

_He stammered, seemingly terrified that I would even deign to speak to him, and he said it was Credence Barebone. We barely exchanged more than a few words, but I got the distinct sense that he was like you and I._

_No, not a wizard (though I do believe that he might be a squib), but that other sort that no one is comfortable speaking about. I imagine his “mother” suspects something as well, given the scars I noticed on his hands when he handed me the pamphlet, which can’t be all for singing magic’s praises._

_What would you do for a young man like this, when your law forbids you from speaking with him?_

_Your friend,_

_\- G_

 

Albus replies:

 

_Mr. Graves,_

_First of all, I want to thank you for your trust, and that your secret is safe with me._

_As for young Mr. Barebone, I’m afraid that I cannot offer any simple solutions. MACUSA law is hardly on your side in this case, and Muggle law is even worse. If things are as you say that they are, perhaps it might be worth continuing to bend your rules for the greater good._

_Watch over him. Do what you can to ease his suffering. But, most of all, URGE HIM TO LEAVE WHEN HE CAN. Help him, in any way that you can._

_I wish that I could offer you more, but given the strength of your character, I’m sure that you will do the right thing for Credence Barebone._

_Yours,_

_\- A_

 

As the year wore on, Albus begins more and more to look forward to owls from Graves, offering advice when asked, and a sympathetic ear at other times. Though they were clearly very different men, they shared a surprising amount of common ground.

And most of all, he was _nothing_ like Gellert.

(Or so he keeps telling himself.)

 

* * *

 

In December, Albus receives an urgent missive from Minister Fawley for a confidential meeting in the Hog’s Head Inn. Albus thinks that it’s an odd place to meet, but it’s unwise to avoid Ministry summons, particularly with the increasing intensity of the search for Grindelwald and his supporters.

When he arrives, the bartender is standing outside looking absolutely miserable. When he spots Albus, realization dawns on his face.

“Of course. I should’ve known _you_ had something do with this,” the Bartender glares.

In contrast, Albus attempts a smile. “Hello Aberforth.”

That only makes his brother angrier. “Is that all you have to say? Some high-and-mighty American appears in _my_ inn, kicks out my customers, and demands that _I_ leave without offering so much of an explanation beyond ‘authorisation from Minister Fawley’ and ‘things are afoot that a man like you could never understand’ and you expect me to accept—”

But Albus pays no heed to the rest of Aberforth’s many grievances, losing track of what he was saying after the word “American”. Brushing past his brother (and his truly ferocious glare) he enters the inn and quickly shuts the door.

Sure enough, Percival Graves is sitting there in the middle of the room.

“Not who you were expecting, Professor?”

Albus does his best to hide his surprise, (and much to his chagrin) he does not quite succeed.

“When you receive an owl from the British Minister for Magic, asking you to meet, you tend to _expect_ the British Minister.”

Graves offers him a seat. “Fawley sent the invitation. I told him that I’d conduct the meeting. Your Ministry was kind enough to set up a temporary Portkey to this establishment from my office, though I’m afraid that we didn’t quite have enough time to inform the owner.” Albus notes that Graves doesn’t seem particularly regretful about that. “I thought that what I had to ask you might be easier coming from a…” Graves hesitates, “…a friend.”

Albus’s eyes widen, as he contemplates Graves’s meaning. Thankfully, the American decides not to keep him in suspense.

“I need all the information that you have on a former student of yours named Newton Scamander.”

…Well. That wasn’t quite what he expected. But, it was equally worrisome.

“Newt? Why?” Scamander _had_ mentioned his intent to visit America the last time they had written, but getting tangled up with MACUSA…

Graves is quick and to the point. “He’s under investigation for the murder of a No-Maj Senator. Among other things.”

 _Things that Newt is hardly capable of,_ Albus thinks to himself. Something wasn’t right, and he has to make sure that his friend knows it. And so, he tells Graves what he knows about Newt. He talks about his friendship with the Lestrange girl, about the circumstances of his expulsion and how he was the only Professor to speak against it. In the end, he emphasizes that he doubts the younger man was responsible for any of it, and that it was simply a case of him being in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Yet, Graves did not seem particularly impressed with the explanation.

“There’s a lot of evidence against him, Professor Dumbledore.”

Albus shakes his head. “There must be something that you overlooked.”

Graves’s eyes narrow. “What makes you so sure?”

“I _know_ Mr. Scamander, Mr. Graves, and I know that he’s the last person to—”

“You care about him.” The tone was almost accusatory, and Albus doesn’t take kindly to its implications.

“He’s a former student of mine. Of _course_ I care about him.”

Graves nods, with a look that Albus could only assume was guilt spreading across his face. “—Of course. I only meant that might cloud your judgement. Or that—”

And it suddenly becomes clear.

“—Is that a hint of _jealousy_?”  As it to emphasize his point, Albus jumps to his feet.

Graves looks somewhat irritated, though he says nothing. And that’s really all the answer that he needs.

How he _loves_ being right.

“You didn’t have to come all this way just to ask me about a former student. You could have sent an owl.” A step closer.

And now Graves stands up, pulling their bodies close to one another, and Albus feels every movement that much more clearly.

“With everything that has been going on, maybe I just wanted the chance to see a friend again.”

He’s not sure which of them breaks the distance first, only that their mouths come crashing together. There is something familiar about the way that Graves kisses him, and the look of satisfaction in his eyes when they finally break apart.

(Or, perhaps Albus is only imagining it.)

He wants nothing more than to push Graves back against the nearest wall when slowly but surely, the sheer inappropriateness of the situation begins to sink in. Of all the times. Of all the places. He could _easily_ ignore it. But, Albus _must_ be the voice of reason, even if his body ( _and heart_ , a small part of him admits) might have other things in mind. 

“You have an investigation—”  

Another kiss. “—I know.” 

“—Of a former student of mine that I happen to be rather fond of.”

Graves moves a hand to Albus’ tie, slowly working it undone.

“—I know.”

And now _Albus_ is moving his hand to the lapels of Graves’s robes, helping him to shrug them off. It might make what he says next more than _slightly_ hypocritical.

“—This is neither the time nor the place to—”

But the last of his protests die on his tongue when Graves kisses him for a third time. It was madness, and there were far more important things for both of them to focus on, but in that moment, with Graves loosening Albus’s belt, he couldn’t bring himself to _care_.

It happens far quicker than he would like, but given the circumstances, they’d been fortunate for any time at all. Once it’s over they sit in silence, before redressing (although try as he might, Albus couldn’t find his tie, which was certain to thrill Aberforth) and locating the Portkey.

As… distracted as the meeting had become, Albus takes one last chance to emphasize the initial point.

“Newt Scamander is a good man, and I know he's innocent. Listen to what he has to say, and look out for him.”

Something flashes behind Graves’ eyes, but it’s gone in an instant. “I’ll see what I can do, I promise.”

Albus believes him.

“When this investigation is done… you ought to visit the United Kingdom again.”

The other man smiles. “I will. And, I’d like to thank you for remedying my previous disappointments.” Graves leans in for one last kiss, and touches the Portkey.

Albus stands in silence, contemplating everything and what it all _means_. Finally, he opens the door to a brother with a truly fearsome look on his face.

“What the hell was that all about?”

Albus frowns, “…An investigation into Muggle killings in New York. Mr. Graves and MACUSA seem to think a former student of mine is the culprit. I… tried my best to convince him otherwise.”

Aberforth is staring at him, with a look of disbelief on his face. “That’s why your tie is missing, then? You were… _convincing_ him?”

He didn’t take kindly to the accusation, despite it not being that far from the truth.

“Percival Graves is also a… _friend_. A friend whom I trust will make the right decision, when the time comes.”

The revelation dawns on him as he speaks, so much so that he misses his brother’s spiteful reply about _friends_ and misplaced trust. He trusts Percival Graves in a way that he hadn’t trusted another man in years. As he thought he _couldn’t_ trust another man after all that had happened.

For the first time in almost thirty years, Albus was finally ready to bury Gellert Grindelwald once and for all.

 

* * *

 

 

Two days pass, and in the early hours of the morning, an owl arrives from New York with a letter written in familiar handwriting.

_Albus,_

_I’m afraid that our correspondence will soon have to come to an end. Things are moving far quicker than I had anticipated, thanks in part to your former student, and time is running out. There’s so much that I would like to say, but I’m afraid that I’ll have to be brief._

_You were meant for far more than that school. There’s a part of you that knows that. I want you to know that when the time comes, you’ll still have a place by my side._

_Always,_

_\- G_

 

Less than an hour later, the morning edition of the _Prophet_ arrives, detailing Englishman Newt Scamander’s heroic capture of Gellert Grindelwald, under the guise of Auror Percival Graves.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> My Harry Potter nostalgia really came back in full force with the release of this movie, so much so that I decided to write for the first time in years.
> 
> Despite the most unfortunate of casting choices (to be as diplomatic as possible), Grindelwald has always been a character that's intrigued me, (especially in regards to his relationship with Dumbledore) and I fell in love with Colin Farrell's portrayal of him. And since we appear to be stuck with said unfortunate casting choice for the next four movies that Dumbledore will appear in, I wanted to take the chance to write him interacting with "Graves" in a way that should line up with canon. And to cram as much dramatic irony into one work of fiction as I could, but that's beside the point.
> 
> If you like shitposting, or just want to say "hi", my tumblr is over at [baratheon.tumblr.com](http://baratheon.tumblr.com).


End file.
